


Sweet dreams (are made of this)

by Faetality



Series: i once had a dream [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Age Swap, Alternate Universe, College Student Peter Hale, Creature Stiles Stilinski, M/M, Young Chris Argent
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-25
Updated: 2020-03-01
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:41:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21962290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Faetality/pseuds/Faetality
Summary: Stiles had lived a long time before he found his wolf. Peter had grown up a lot since he met Stiles. Navigating the world together is all fun and games until there’s another blue eyed boy in the mix.
Relationships: Peter Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Series: i once had a dream [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1549885
Comments: 5
Kudos: 68





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Excuse the Eurythmics title, I have a theme and it fit.

There’s snow on the ground when Peter leaves his second class of the day. A thin white covering that crunches beneath his shoes as he crosses the square. He shoves his hands deeper into his pockets and glares as a flake falls into his lashes. 

Peter didn’t hate the snow. He didn’t hate the cold. He didn’t hate the ice and frost that threatened his descent down the porch stairs each morning. What he hated was the fact that it was cold and snowing and he had three hours of class left before he could go home and curl up on the sofa with his boyfriend to enjoy the fact it was cold. So he shrugs his shoulders up and decides “ _ screw it _ ”. He fishes his keys from his pocket and heads toward the parking lot. 

Sometimes he missed California. 

It was nearly an hour drive to his house from Ann Arbor, that is if he drove the speed limit. He turned off the main road just after half an hour. Stiles’ Jeep was sitting off to the side of the grass and Peter parks next to it. The porch steps creak as he climbs them and when he reaches the door, he doesn’t bother fishing for his key. Stiles never locked the door when he was home, if someone wanted to break in that was their mistake. One that Peter almost wanted to witness. Almost. 

“You’re home early.” It’s not accusative but there's curiosity under the pleasantry. Stiles catches him when he’s removing his jacket in the hallway, warm arms winding around his waist and lips dropping down to kiss his neck. “Did your classes get cancelled?”

“Nope.”

“Peter.” Now  _ that  _ was a warning tone. It doesn’t matter though, Stiles was never actually angry with him. 

“It’s just American Lit, nothing I won’t pass with or without listening to Anderson drone on and on about the wonders of  _ Walden _ .” He twists and arm and hugs Stiles back, tilting his chin up for a proper kiss. 

“You aren’t getting any of the hot chocolate I’m making until you finish whatever Petrova assigned you.”

“I find that incredibly rude and a withholding of my fundamental rights.”

“And what right would that be?”   
“Pursuit of happiness.”

“Uh huh, maybe if you didn’t skip your classes you would know that your argument applies to governments. Seeing that I’m older than the document you’re trying to use I think you lose this one. Now - идите дорогого, у тебя есть домашние задания.” 

Peter grins and steals another kiss. Four and a half years together had made them comfortable with each other in a way Peter had only ever felt with his pack. Well, Stiles was his pack from the first moment he’d seen him in the Preserve, he’d just not known it yet. “Old age has made you cranky.” 

“Yeah yeah, do your work and I’ll bring you a surprise.” 

“Is it a puppy? Oh you shouldn’t have!” The falsetto fades into laughter as he heads to the dining room table. He could have gone to his room, or to their room, but he liked being close enough to hear Stiles’ low murmur as he talked to himself wherever he was on the first floor. It had been odd at first, the first months when they were together full time after Peter had decided to leave Beacon Hills and the state of California as a whole. It was far too quiet but at the same time there was Stiles, constantly moving, talking, a presence even without words. Stiles had tried to apologize for his mutterings only once, but Peter waved him away. He knew that with a history so long there was bound to be a tale of loneliness somewhere but that wasn’t a story he wanted to hear; not when Stiles clearly didn’t feel like sharing it. 

Time passes, the clinking of glasses fades into the background, and suddenly Stiles is over his shoulder and a mug of hot chocolate so rich it might well have been syrup was placed by his hand. Chocolate and cinnamon and the faintest traces of burnt sugar that translated itself as magic in Peter’s mind took over his senses. Outside clouds have rolled in and shadows stretch long over the grass. 

“Full moon’s this weekend, do you still want to go up to the national park to run?” He sits across the table, book in hand. 

“Yeah, the wolf’s feeling antsy and I don’t want to have Mrs. Rhodes on the porch telling me to keep my damn dog penned up.”

“Honestly, that woman needs to learn that she can’t control the wilderness. And that pulling into someone’s yard yelling sometimes ends with being removed from someone’s yard being yelled at. Otherwise her precious magnolias may have an accident come spring.” 

“That’s cruel, you know how Mr. Anderson nearly best her in the garden competition this year.” 

“Indeed I do.” 

  
  


Peter joins Stiles in the kitchen to help with dinner. He’d come to find that he loved the actions of preparing and cooking for the two of them. Stiles had a tendency to burn anything that wasn’t a dessert if he let his attention wander for even a moment. Peter was still learning but he was doing far better than Talia thought; if the comments she had made last time they talked were to go by. 

After dinner they curl up on the couch. Peter drapes himself over Stiles’ chest while an old movie plays on the tv. “I’ll go to the store tomorrow and pick up what we need for the full moon.” Peter hums. “For snacks do you want Reese’s again or should I get KitKats this time?”

“Reese’s. Always.”

“Yeah yeah yeah, I suppose I should be tried for blasphemy for suggesting anything else.”

“Most certainly.” 


	2. Chapter 2

Stiles watches Peter strip his shirt over his head and stretch his arms up. Lean muscle rippled beneath his skin and Stiles is struck by the thought of the man he would become. Already he was broadening in the shoulders and Stiles knee in a few more years it would be his wolf that dwarfed him in his arms. 

“Are you going to shift tonight?” 

“I think I will. But you go ahead and I’ll catch you before long.” 

“Maybe I want to watch you.” 

“Don’t pout at me, that doesn’t work anymore.” Even so Stiles removes his shoes and hoodie. The clouds past briefly and moonlight spills across the forest. The snow under his feet melts and after a short kiss Peter grins, shifts, and takes off running. On nights like this it was like they had first met. Peter running like he was a pup again and Stiles knowing there were miles of land to travel. He waits until Peter is far enough that he knows the man won’t be worrying about him and what he’s doing. He strips down further and lets the shifts take over. 

It starts with a warmth in his fingers that spreads into his chest. Then comes the shift, it didn’t hurt - it was like a deep stretch. Muscles pulled and released, joints popped, and then it was over. Stiles stretches out, makes a clicking laugh as steam rises all around him from the melting snow. 

Then he takes to the sky. 

The cloud cover and the light snow were the perfect cover for him. It was rare he got to fly so freely and so low. He makes looping circles and dives, if he could whoop in laughter he would. 

He can hear Peter below, hear the grey wolves in their dens, and if he focuses he can see Peter running, leaping over logs and creeps and from rock to rock. He dives quickly, wings tucked against his slender form. He extends them quickly and the trees rustle, snow swirling; Peter looks up and he does let out a whoop. 

When the frenetic energy wears off he coasts. 

Voices catch his ear and he circles low. 

“Keep that gun up Christopher. You never know what is out here.” 

“Yessir.” 

His sight sharpens and three figures are walking. One splits from the others, the younger one if Stiles were to wager, Stiles touches down silently and half shifts back to human form. His skin retains some scales, his eyes keep their copper shine, and his fingers are tipped with gray claws while fangs push at his lip. He slips through the woods. He’s not going to get close, just enough to see and to learn. Stiles couldn’t allow Peter to be in danger. Assess and move on. That was all. 

He’s right about the man being young. He’s eighteen or nineteen, no more than twenty summers. He has the remnants of a baby face, he’s dressed for the cold but it’s not in hunter attire. No, the boy was a Hunter, the kind that made his blood boil except- he smelled sweet. Beneath the gun oil and wolfsbane, the flower fresh as though he had only just made his poison but had not been making it so long for it to have worn into the skin, beneath that there was a honey sweet scent, like woods after the rain and late night cocoa. It’s intriguing and Stiles missteps. A branch snaps under foot and wide eyes land on the forest where he hides. 

“Who’s there?” 

Stiles slinks further back. 

“Come out!” The rifle raises. 

Stiles runs. He’s not as fast on foot as Peter but he’s still faster than a human. Faster than a bullet? Not quite. The first one crashes against his shoulder but doesn’t pierce, he can hear the metal crumpled against his scale. The second one scrapes his bicep, the third ricochets off his rib then he’s free. He takes to the sky the first chance he gets. 

The lake is cool when he dives beneath it’s surface, shifting beneath the water and rising out human. He floats until He heals and then washes the blood from his arm. As soon as he’s clean he finds Peter. 

The wolf is lounging on an outcropping off rocks, lazy and carefree. Stiles climbs to his side. “Ready to go?”

“Ready if you are.”

“You want a ride back to the car?” Something sparks in the wolf’s eyes “Really?”

“If you want.” It was a rare offer, one made only three times in the ten years they had known each other. One Peter was suspicious of but unwilling to turn down. 

The wolf clings to him for the take off but straightens out once they’re in the air. Stiles does one loop before touching down in the clearing where they arrived. Peter drops to the ground and promptly climbs into the passenger seat of his BMW. Stiles laughs, pulls on his jeans and jacket, and they start the drive home. 

Peter is asleep twenty minutes from the park, head leaned up against the glass and lips parted. Stiles can’t help but reach over and take his hand, it calms his nerves. Hard headed and sarcastic he was the first to admit that Peter could make a Saint take up a whip. If hunters were in the area, even an hour away, he wouldn’t relax until he knew they had moved along. 

Back in their own territory, their home, he wakes Peter and bundles him inside. The wolf is half asleep and together they fall directly into bed, wrapped in each other's arms. 

*

“Oh, excuse me.” The boy is pretty and that’s the only reason Peter doesn’t roll his eyes. He’s probably on a tour because Peter knows he’d recognize eyes and lips like that if he’d seen them before. He was happy with Stiles, over the moon, convinced that he was going to spend his life at the man’s side. That didn’t mean neither of them looked sometimes. They weren’t averse to a little bit of fun. 

“Where are you heading?” 

“Memorial Hall, Room 207.” His voice was deeper than Peter expected and overconfident for a man walking the wrong direction. 

“You need help?”

“No.”

“Mm, so you know that Memorial Hall is on the other side of campus.” 

“...no.” 

“I have class in 203. I’ll walk you over.”

He learns the  boy’s -he was almost twenty- young man’s name is Chris, he’s transferring over for his sophomore year and living off campus on the second floor of a house with his father and sister. He learns he’s a business major. Learns he has a quiet laugh that is a little halting and rusty but full of heart. 

He ends up giving Chris his number before they part. He’d have to tell Stiles about the kid, if Peter has his way he’ll be seeing more of him. 

As it is he has a month and a half before finals, three papers, six reading assignments, a presentation, and a dragon to begin Christmas shopping for. Was it early? A little. Was he still starting way too late? Definitely. He could worry about pretty boys  _ after  _ Petrova finished lecturing him on proper grammar and he found a good jacket or overshirt for Stiles to add to his collection. 

[From: Stiles] can u get bread and cookies and milk ?

[To: Stiles] Can you text like an adult? 

He gets a photo of the man with his tongue sticking, followed by ‘is that a yes?’ 

He decides not to answer but Stiles sends a smiley face anyway.

Peter gets the groceries on the way in and thinks nothing more about the day. 

*

Stiles loved the life he’d found. He loved writing, he loved their not so little house on their definitely not so little piece of land. He especially loved his wolf, even when he was stubborn, sarcastic, moody, and a thousand other less than superb adjectives. Even when he came home with groceries and smelling of honey sweet woods and spiced cocoa. Even when the possession rose in his throat with the force of  _ mine-take-own-claim  _ that the scent brought with it. He understood his nature, knew he would never hurt his wolf, what scared him was not the fact that he wanted to drag someone down into the dirt and remove any trace of scent that wasn’t his own. It was that he didn’t know if it was Peter or the stranger he was feeling it for. 

Regardless he’s been standing in the foyer too long. Peter is staring. 

“Stiles? Is something wrong?” He has that lilt to his voice, the one that says he’s pretending he isn’t worried, that he doesn’t care so much about the answer. Stiles knows better. He takes the bags from Peter and puts the milk away before he backs the young man up against the wall. “I’m not complaining but-“ He stutters when Stiles makes a mark that stays. “But I- Okay.” Nails dig into his shoulders, a moan breaks from the man, and Stiles pulls back. “Stiles, What was that about?”

“You smelled off.”

“So you decided attacking my neck was the right course of action?” He was breathless and sounded shocked but not upset. Then he laughs. “You should’ve been a wolf.”

“I’m quite happy as I am. Besides, if I was a wolf i couldn’t claim you so boldly.” He playfully taps the marks he’d left. “Now, who’s your new friend?” 

“Are you _ jealous?” _ Hands slide down to his hips. 

“Shut up, now who is he?”

“His name is Chris, he’s some freshman that was lost.”

“And you were being helpful out of the goodness of your heart?”

“As any Good Samaritan would.” 

“Uh huh, how cute is he?” 

“Adorable.” Stiles had to agree with the assessment. Part of him wants to tell Peter what Chris is. But… there’s no guarantee it’s a reason for concern. Peter has a hard enough time finding people he likes, Peter didn’t have friends so much as he collected people. People who had something useful for him down the line. Stiles understands why but he wants more for him. He wants the wolf to _ want _ to stay on campus after class and have lunch with friends. To attend study groups not because he needs to but because he wants to see someone other than Stiles. He wants him happy and safe...

“Well maybe you’ll have a new friend.

“Now, Talia has called twice today. She wants to know where we’re spending Thanksgiving.” It’s Peter’s turn to bury his face in Stiles’ neck. “Nope, none of that, it’s a phone call. It can’t end in bloodshed, just call and tell her we’ll be in for the first half of the week and get it over with.”

“And you can’t tell her because?”

“Because she’s your sister and  _ your  _ alpha.” 

“That’s ridiculous logic.”

“I love you too.”


	3. Chapter 3

Peter loves feeling powerful. Loves the rush of a full moon and the power of knowledge. But there is nothing, not the pull of the moon or the flare of the sun, that could compare with the trust given to him by Stiles. To be allowed to see and to touch him when he shifts from one form to another- each with its own set of vulnerabilities. To be the only one allowed to sit astride him, to rub fingertips across his brow, to be surrounded by the dragon’s body like a snake around a branch but know he was as safe as any bank vault. And wasn’t that a comparison. After all, what was safer than a dragon's hoard? 

They had packed the essentials for their trip and loaded them in the car on Thursday. The plan was to leave Sunday mornin, arrive Monday, spend until Thursday evening in Beacon Hills, then be back before either of them start planning a fake death. When Peter woke Friday morning Stiles was already out of bed. The sheets were still warm but no lights were on to tell Peter where his lover had gone. Luckily a simple look outside painted the picture clear enough. 

Stretched across the stone patio Stiles didn’t even raise his head as Peter approached. The only part of his nearly twenty foot length that wasn’t akimbo was his tail and one wing- simply by virtue of being too close to the support beams. Honeyed scales catch the early morning light and Peter settles down beside the dragon’s leg, the high arch of his wing settled against Peter’s shoulders. 

“You’re up early.” A roll of his head and a gentle huff. “You know Talia isn’t going to force you not to shift. As long as there aren’t any humans from outside the pack she doesn’t care. Well, maybe not in the living room either.” Stiles drags him the fraction closer with a subtle shift of his wing. Peter wasn’t a mind reader but he knew Stiles well enough by now to get the message.  _ That’s not the point.  _ “I know.” 

Peter soaks in the warmth of his lover with on hand scratching gently at the soft spot below the hinge of his jaw. “I’m going to have lunch with Chris today, he’s trying to make his schedule and the poor kid’s  _ choosing  _ an 8 a.m.” After Stiles’ first reaction he hadn't known quite what the man was thinking when it came to the young man. He had encouraged them to spend time together and he hadn’t tried to erase the meager scent that lingered on Peters clothes after the few times he’d hung out with Chris but it was odd. He wasn’t afraid of Stiles, no, not at all. “I should get ready.” another huff but the wing around his shoulder rises to let him stand. 

“Love you.” He kisses the regal arch of the dragon’s brow and goes to get ready. 

Peter had managed to make Chris laugh once in the five times they had gotten together. He didn’t count the half chuckles or the grins that were accompanied by the silent rise and fall of his shoulders. No, those didn’t count. What counted was the full bodied, deep, uninhibited  _ delightful  _ sound that comes from his mouth across the table on that Friday afternoon. 

“No really! I think my sister could argue a brick wall into crumbling.

“So, what are you doing for Thanksgiving now that you’ve got Spring schedule sorted out?” 

“Just going hunting with my father. He’s taking us to Colorado.”

“Elk?”

“Yeah. Probably, I didn’t ask. Hey, do you think getting meal credits is worth it?”

“Absolutely not, just use cash.” 

*

Stiles is mean. He’s cruel and Peter does  _ not  _ appreciate how early he’s being expected to wake up and get in the car. He also definitely, most certainly does not appreciate the kiss to his temple and the sugar sweet coffee the man pushes into his hands. 

Talia meets them before they even get to the front steps. “Peter!” And for all his complaining Peter can’t deny the way her arms come round him and the smell of _ pack _ fills his senses makes something in him release. It was nice to be home. 

He and Stiles share the room that used to be his. It’s half a library now with only a queen bed to differ it from any office space but truly that’s alright. Things would change, it was only natural. He spends all day long with his family, chasing nieces and helping Elisia Hale, his grandmother, in the kitchen. Stiles switched between walking the Preserve and telling stories to anyone who cares to catch him and to listen. 

It was a well earned break that he hadn't known he needed. But when Thursday evening rolled around and the bags were back in the car and Stiles was waiting for him to finish his rounds of goodbyes and apologies for leaving so soon he was ready for _ their _ bed and _ their _ land beneath his feet. Beacon Hills would always be Hale land but somewhere there was _ Peter’s  _ land and on it was a big house with a bed wide enough for both of them to sprawl. That was where he wants to be for the weekend. That was where he belonged.

He doesn’t hear from Chris at all over Thanksgiving break but that’s okay. He didn’t expect him to, they weren’t that close. There was no reason to overthink it. He does text Chris on tuesday,hoping to grab a bite of lunch with the younger man before finals stress well and truly set in. 

The call went to voicemail but he didn’t let it bother him. Not until Wednesday passes the same way. “Stiles, I’m a little worried.” He admits over breakfast. 

“I’m sure he’s okay. Just busy.” 

Chris calls him back on Friday. “I’m so sorry, man. I tripped while hunting; sprained my ankle and broke my phone.” 

“Are you alright?”  _ Humans are so fragile.  _ “I was starting to think you were avoiding me.” 

“No, not avoiding you. But I’m not going to be back on campus until next semester.” 

Peter is disappointed, but it’s not too bad. He has other people around he can grab lunch with. 

Finals passed quickly enough and soon it was Christmas. Peter wrapped every present with a careful precision and misdirection in the form of weights, odd packing, and mislabelled name tags. Stiles had the uncanny ability to pick up a gift and say exactly what it was. Peter was doing better to throw him off. Of course Stiles would only snoop up to the last gift. The one that Peter set aside and firmly said “No. This is the one.” those gifts were something a little sacred and those didn’t always come wrapped. 

Paper littered the living room when Stiles springs to his feet. 

“Wait, I want you to open yours first.” Stiles runs off and comes back with a box that fit in one hand. Peter is careful about the wrapping, a trait that drove his lover crazy if for no other reason than that it dragged the anticipation out. When Peter opens it though… his heart beats a little faster. 

There, on a black chain, was a silvery-white scale, copper brushed along the edge. It was about the size of his thumbnail. He hesitated to touch it. “Stiles…” the dragon is smiling at him softly and Peter knows he has some wonderful expression that Stiles might laugh at on another day. But he doesn’t care. 

“I thought, well, I know you’re mine and I know that I love you and everything that goes with it but, you deserve to know I’m yours just as much.”

“I know that.”

“I know. But I wanted you to have a physical reminder of that. Because I know you love me and I know that you know that I love you and that you’ll always have me. But this way you’ll always have a piece of me too.” Peter sets the necklace aside reverently and there’s a moment’s pause before he launches himself into Stiles’ lap. 

“I love you.” 

“I love you too.” 

When Peter hands over his own gift he feels almost inadequate. Stiles must be able to tell because he nudged him with a toe. He doesn’t say anything but he doesn’t really have to. 

It’s a book, heavy and leather bound with gold lettering down the spine.  _ The Collected Works of Fyodor Dostoyevsky  _ and then sitting atop that book is a smaller book with no title. It’s written in polish but the woman had assured Peter of its contents. Diary entries about the tales of dragons. Stiles opens it carefully and smiles a soft sort of smile. 

It’s all Peter can ask for. 

*

The first day of classes Peter finds himself constantly looking for familiar blue eyes. They don’t show up until he’s almost back to his car. There’s quick footsteps and then “Peter!” Chris draws up short of a hug but Peter reaches out and drags him into a quick clasp. 

“How was day one?” 

“Boring. Are you going home? I have one more class but we could get a late lunch beforehand.” 

“You know, I think that sounds wonderful.” 

*

Stiles likes listening to Peter talk about his day and in the next weeks Peter’s day often involved Chris. Stiles was beginning to like listening to those second hand stories from Chris as well. It’s February second when Stiles decides he’s going to surprise Peter on campus, maybe take him to a fancy lunch and wander the bookstore on the east side of the city that Peter loved so well. 

Yes, that would be nice. 

**Author's Note:**

> Translation; “now go on dearest, you have homework”
> 
> Happy Holidays, here’s the beginning of a fic as a present.


End file.
